


Soft and loud

by ThePiningTrees



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek doesn’t like eating breakfast alone, Imagine they had a rough couple of weeks, M/M, Relationship status fresh and undefined, Romantic Fluff, Stolen Moments, Valentine Sterek, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 03:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePiningTrees/pseuds/ThePiningTrees
Summary: Before Stiles said ‘I love you’, there was this moment of indecisiveness.





	Soft and loud

Certain moments are worth prolonging.

To Stiles surprise, certain moments also link effortlessly together by some diffuse subconscious association; a feeling or a mental state. The well-washed pillow case scrubbing his cheek when he moves coupled by the small noises from Derek in the kitchen, all contributing to the sensation of growing contentment, overwhelming contentment and the realization that he has already experienced this kind of morning, and he will continue to, for who knows how long, right.

Certain moments are worth prolonging; and certain images are worth etching into consciousness, no matter how exhausted he might be:  
Derek stands on the treshold, his unshaven face in repose, and Stiles appreciates the hell out of the present moment; the wild bed-hair and the lead-weights in Derek’s eyelids, the visible chest-hair, and even the clementine Derek peels open with the nail of his thumb. Stiles readily appreciates Derek’s nails, and the fingers those nails belong to; he usually appreciates them fervently and frequently loudly, depending on where they are at.

  
”Mm, you look strapping,” Stiles says with a pleased and meandering stretch.

Derek pops a couple of clementine wedges. The third is raised, ready to go on a rescue mission, but is held back until Stiles is finished twisting around.

  
”Do you want me to bring breakfast in here?”

Derek chews, mildly inquisitive and gaze fixed on Stiles’ twisting movements (though Stiles doubts his sprawling feet are sensual enough to deserve such attention). Music is wafting from the kitchen, a set-up designed to draw Stiles from sleep, but Derek never seems to follow through on his mission to turn Stiles into a morning person: the playlist isn’t death metal, but a soft classical piano lulling the senses. Derek told him the actual meaning of the word pianoforte once: piano e forte, meaning soft and loud, and then proceeded to demonstrate by using Stiles as the over enthusiastic, and bendy, instrument. Since then even the intro to The Lark is enough to get him aroused and confused.

”In a minute,” he yawns. “Come lay down – your nipples look cold.”

  
Derek comes forward willingly. A bustle of elbows and groans, and then Stiles surrends his spot on the mattress to Derek. Stiles crawls on top and molds himself against the ‘wolf, top to bottom, or clavicle to toe more accurately.

There’s a few brief moments of sexual nature; friction in the right places, Derek’s dick twitching under Stiles’ relaxed abdomen, but the moment is ambushed by Derek pushing the last of the clementine wedges between Stiles’ teeth and licking the juice from his chin; there’s a lick entering Stiles’s mouth too and the whole ordeal is quite exciting, but then Stiles’ neck gives up and he gives in to sleepiness. He relishes in the sensation of having Derek pliant but solid under him, not caring if they are both too fatigued to proceed in a particular direction. This is almost, almost better than sex: their bodyheat mingling, firm arms coming up to balance his hips so he doesn’t slipery slide off Derek’s torso. The quiet assurance in how Derek squeeze his waist until he can feel the pressure of contact and then the embrace remains there, unmovable.

He might fall asleep here. Listening to the rythmic contraction and dilation of Derek’s heart. Derek’s chest moves up and down like… a vessel on the surface of a vast sea. Yeah. He’s a raft, and Stiles is Kate Winslet in this nonsensical simili. Or not. He finds and weaves their hands together and silently makes a vow of his own, soundless but nontheless sincere: He will never let Derek go.

  
”I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs to one of Derek’s pectoral muscles.  
Derek strokes leisurely down his hide.

”Alright,” he says with a calm sense of acceptance.

  
That’s the closest thing Stiles has come to _I_ _love_ _you_. Laying there, nuzzling Derek’s bare skin, listening to his heart, he wonders if their relationship still has a few steps to go before they reach home plate, but maybe it’s a process he needs to trust in. With practice, they’ll get there; he’ll find his courage, and Derek will say it back. He will.

  
For now, Stiles is fine where he currently is laying.

He appreciates the moment. He doesn’t need to tell Derek how he feels because—

  “I love you,” he whispers thickly into Derek’s chest hair and his whole body grows stiff with caution. 

There’s a shudder in Derek’s breath, then a hand comes up and caresses Stiles’ cheek.

  “I know. Just like I know I love you,” Derek answers calmy, and his heart thuds against Stiles’ other smushed cheek, soft and loud.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was some Valentine shorty I wanted to try and write, did I make you puke a little or..?


End file.
